Queen of my Dreams
by originella
Summary: Miss Sara Crewe has long escaped her dreadful school and the State of New York. Now living in England in the late 1890's, she is a teenager with a bright future as the ward of kindly Mr. Carrisford. When her guardian is to be knighted, Sara leans she is to be presented to Queen Victoria, and the young girl couldn't be more delighted, especially when a court position becomes free.
1. Chapter One, Carrisford Manor

Chapter One,

Carrisford Manor

It all seemed so long ago when Mr. Carrisford, or George as I am permitted to call him, took me away from the wretched existence in Miss Minchin's School for Girls in New York. I'd wanted to return to India, my childhood home, but George informed me that we were to journey to England, where some of the best finishing schools were, as my father stated in his last will. Becky came along with me, and was secured a position in George's vast and wondrous mansion, Carrisford Manor, in Kent.

The new school was called St. Mary's, and I was instructed in many things. I was considered one of the best French pupils, but I did not speak about my time in America, nor in India, for I did not want to appear to stick out as I once had. The school uniforms were an improvement, too—a simple gray or black floor-length gown, stockings, and black buckle shoes. On holidays—summers, Christmas, and Thanksgiving—I would journey from London back to Kent where I would attend grand parties held by the Carrisford family.

And then, suddenly, I was no longer a little girl anymore. Slowly but surely, my childhood and girlhood had ended, and I was fifteen years of age. I had returned home for Christmas having not seen George for a year, for my close friend, Charlotte, had invited me to come to her own home in Oxford for the summer holidays, her family treating me as if I was one of their own. Even now, knowing that I would see her again in approximately four weeks, I missed our lazy afternoons after final exams, walking through the park of our school, or simply sitting in the library reading.

I penned a letter to her as the carriage departed from London and into the swirling snow. I wrote that, thankfully, the wheels were not becoming wedged into the ice, like they had last Christmas, where I'd nearly gone into a ditch. I told her that I would ask George at once if she could come and stay with us during the following summer, pending her friendly father, Lord James, and her kindly mother, Lady Mary's, permission.

Lord James and Lady Mary were quite wonderful individuals who quite took me under their wing immediately as soon as Charlotte introduced me to them as her best friend. With their four other children: Jane, William, Henry, and Lydia, Charlotte was the only one currently in finishing school. Jane had gotten married and Lydia was too young. William was on tour in the army and Henry was studying law at Cambridge.

We drove through a small village where the carriage driver drove more slowly through the cobblestone streets. We stopped for a brief period to rest the horses and I went directly to the ladies' room of a grand hotel. I asked for a cup of hot tea while I opted not to sit by the fire, but remain by the window to watch the snow and finish my letter. A maid returned with my tea and half a dozen shortbread cookies on a plate. I thanked her and gave her a few shillings before returning to my letter, making sure I didn't get any ink blots anywhere. The lady brought me more cookies before I left and I tucked them into a handkerchief and gave them willingly to my carriage driver, who was grateful for something to eat.

I pulled the blanket of the carriage closer to me, and securely shut the windows in a wave of cold as we continued on through the village. I'd been sure to postmark the correct address within the letter, but thankfully the hotel clerk was willing to mail it to Charlotte for me. I mentally counted the days again, until Christmas would be over and I could return to school. It would be around thirty-one days before our reunion, and I hoped that she would keep me informed about her holiday.

We passed by a frozen lake about five miles east of the manor, and I wondered if the lake nearby would be safe enough to skate on. Given that my dear father left everything to me, and George himself was so wealthy, I'd grown up quite well and was permitted to take lessons in whatever I pleased. Languages, arts, dancing, singing, literature, mathematics, science, or instruments… The list went on and on, and I was unsure what, if anything, I was being prepared for, knowing that, if I chose to do so, that the subject of marriage would eventually be brought up.

We came to the manor and I peeked through the window, judging that it looked just as I remembered it. Looking up at what I once believed were imposing walls, now resembled old friends in their cherry-wood bricks. I stepped out of the Carrisford carriage and instructed the servants to take my bags to my rooms as Ram Dass, George's right-hand man, comes out of the house as the snow begins to swirl around us.

"Ram Dass!" I call out to him as I step forward, my fur-lined boots crunching on the falling snow. "I do hope you are well. Happy Christmas."

Ram Dass smiles, his kind, deep brown eyes taking me in. "You look wonderful, Miss Crewe," he says, kissing my hand politely before offering me his arm as his little monkey crawls onto his opposite shoulder. "Mr. Carrisford is awaiting you in the parlor."

I nod and take his arm as we walk through the grand double doors of the manor. I allow the housekeeper to remove my overcoat and boots and most gratefully slip my feet into house shoes. My fur-lined cap comes off next and my red-gold curls tumble down and frame my face. The housekeeper, Mrs. Fields, smiles indulgently and waves the pair of us into the parlor, where Ram Dass lets me go and walks to an opposite window to give me and George some privacy.

With a kind look from Ram Dass, I know I am permitted to speak. "George?" I say softly, stepping forward and sitting across from him.

His eyes light up when he sees me. Though it has been four years, George has the same face as he did when he first rescued me. "Ah, my dear, dear child," he says, holding out his hands towards me. "You will be perfect, Sara," he tells me, nodding.

I blink. I cannot understand what he is talking about. Surely, it has something to do with my schooling... "Perfect for what?" I ask.

"The queen is celebrating her Diamond Jubilee next summer. She will have been on the throne for sixty years. I've just received word that I will be one of the lucky gentleman to be knighted on this grand occasion."

"Knighted? George, that's wonderful!" I cry.

He nods. "Yes," he replies. "You shall come with me. You shall be sixteen by the time the ceremony happens, the proper time for a debut into society. You haven't been running around with boys, have you, Sara?"

"No," I say firmly, feeling uncomfortable at the very mention of discussing this particular topic with him. "Of course not."

"What do you spend your time at school doing?" he asked as our tea was brought in for the two of us. He took a piece of bread from the tray table and spread some fig jam onto it as he watched me with a kind smile, waiting for my answer. I watched and noticed how careful he with not getting any jam on burgundy silk tie, and wondered why he seemed to be questioning me about my activities. Perhaps the tie had been a gift from his dead son Ralph…

"Reading or speaking with Charlotte," I replied.

"Ah, yes, Miss Charlotte Lambert. I served with her father, Lord Lambert, in the

army days so very long ago."

"You know Lord James?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yes. Good man. Has two sons, if I'm not mistaken."

"You're not," I reply. "William and Henry are his sons."

He smiles. "William is serving as well?"

I nod, taking my cup of tea. "Yes, he's on tour now, I believe. Henry is studying law at Cambridge. Charlotte is going to see him."

"All on her own? That's not proper, even if he is her brother," George said, shaking his head as he chewed his bread.

"Lord James and Lady Mary are going with her," I reply.

"And what of their other children? They've got two other daughters, haven't they, Sara?" he asks.

"Yes. Jane and Lydia."

"And where are they this snowy day?"

"Lydia is accompanying Lord James and Lady Mary to Cambridge. It's her first time going to see Henry at school and, by all accounts, she's very excited to see the city."

"That will be good for her," George says, nodding in approval. "And what of the eldest daughter? Jane, is it?"

"Jane is married and lives in Ipswich," I reply. "Her husband is a doctor there on the coast. Lydia is staying with them for the holidays. Jane and her husband, Robert, are to have a baby very soon."

George looks uncomfortable at that, and I remember that, in proper conversation, that you didn't discuss such things with men. Lowering my eyes, I know he will know that I understand my faux pas, and he will dismiss it, for it was the gentlemanly thing to do. "You must be tired Sara."

I raise my eyes back to his. "Very much."

He nods. "Very well. You may journey upstairs. I'm sure Becky has begun to unpack your trunk. Why not go upstairs and assist her? I know you like to do that sort of thing."

I force myself not to breathe a sigh of relief. "Yes, thank you, George." Rising to my feet, I cross towards him to kiss his cheek. "I shall see you for supper, then?" I ask him.

He nods. "Yes. Go along upstairs now."

I turn and walk from the room, giving Ram Dass a quick smile as I go up the grand staircase, my shoes making no sound on the carpets. I go down the corridor and turn left and open the door to my suite of rooms, where I see Becky, now twenty years of age, unpacking my clothes. "Becky?"

She turns, smiling at me. She crosses the room and embraces me briefly before pulling back, which is when I get a look at her. "Becky!" I cry out. "You're to have another baby?"

She nods. "Yes. John and I are simply over the moon."

"How do Josephine and Thomas feel about it?" I ask, walking past her to hang one of my cloaks in my wardrobe.

She chuckles, her mind drifting to her five-year-old daughter and her three-year-old son. "Josephine is delighted, but Thomas doesn't fully understand what is going to happen."

I nod, returning to the side of my trunk and handing another cloak. "Charlotte is to go to Cambridge to see Henry," I say softly.

Becky grins. "Does Master Henry still write you letters?" she asks.

I feel my cheeks heat as I recall the summer before, where Henry stole a kiss from beneath an oak tree…

. . .

 _It had been such a sunny day, and Charlotte and I had been for a long walk on the grounds of her family home. She'd gone inside to get us lemonade, and I'd waited in the shade beneath the tree. Henry, home for two weeks from school, had discovered me there, a smile playing at his lips._

" _Miss Sara Crewe," he said, looking me up and down._

" _Master Henry," I replied, being sure to keep my voice clipped. "How are you this afternoon? Glad to be at home?"_

 _He kept walking towards me, and I knew that, should we be discovered, it would have been a good and proper scolding for the both of us. "Miss Sara, you've grown up quite a bit since I saw you last. Tell me, now... How many years has it been since then? One? Two?"_

" _Three," I reply, remembering coming to the place shortly before my twelfth birthday, and being overjoyed when Lord James and Lady Mary organized a party for me. "I was twelve when you saw me last."_

" _Ah, yes, the birthday party," he says fondly. "I believe my mother and father gifted you with a pearl necklace, a new gown, seven bolts of fabric, a cloak, and a painting done of Her Majesty the queen."_

 _I raised my eyebrows then at his recollection of a mere girls' birthday gifts;_ my _birthday gifts. "Yes. Well, I was very grateful to them."_

 _He proceeded to fiddle with his tennis racket, something that, by this point, had gone unnoticed on my part. "Charlotte tells me you lived in New York for nearly two years."_

 _I nod, forcing myself not to bite my lip in a moment of pain. It was Henry's fault at not remembering the years, I decided. I'd told Charlotte on more than one occasion of the years I'd spent suffering in the dreary State of New York. I no longer spoke like a street urchin; rather, I spoke in a refined, upper-class English accent which was my pride and joy. "Four, actually, almost five. It was a troubling time for me."_

" _She said that you went to a boarding school there while your father fought in the war," he went on._

 _I nodded, not knowing why I was prolonging the conversation at all. "Yes. My headmistress was a cruel and brutal woman, virtually imprisoning me after my father's death. I was destitute for nearly one more year before George—Mr. Carrisford—took me in as his own."_

" _Do you know what you want to do, Sara? May I call you 'Sara'?" he asks, closing the distance between us even more. At my nod, he continues, "Do you know, Sara, what you wish to do? Do with your life, I mean. Have you given it any consideration?"_

" _Yes, of course," I reply, stung that he thought me a silly girl who had no notion as to what I wished the future to bring. "I suppose I shall want to be a teacher. I do love children dearly. I shall also want to tell stories."_

" _You are a storyteller?" he asks._

 _I smile up at him. "Yes. Living in India for the first seven years of my life, I learned much from the myths there."_

" _What is a myth to you, Sara?"_

" _Something that is not originally true, yet is made true by many people speaking of it," I reply, my voice catching in my throat then as he continued closer to me. "I suppose anything can begin as a myth."_

 _He reaches out carefully and slowly, so as not to frighten me, and cups my cheek with one hand. "You care for my sister?"_

" _Of course I do. She is my dearest friend in all the world."_

" _I know Charlotte cares for you a great deal, Sara."_

" _As I do her," I reply._

" _As I do you," he says._

 _I know we've strayed from the topic, and I know we must bring it back to the subject of myths, and quickly… "What do you think of myths as a subject, Henry? I am curious… Do you study them at Cambridge?"_

" _They are discussed, yes."_

" _And what, pray tell, is the main myth brought up in discussion?"_

" _The myth of love," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper and his lips come down then and make contact with mine._

 _I am numb, and I force myself not to move beneath him. I make no sound as he continues his kiss, and, though his hands stray for a moment to my waist, he does not push, and soon breaks it off. I lower my eyes, hoping that it will be he who speaks first. When he does not, I break the silence. "Love, sir? I am afraid I do not know what you mean."_

" _That," he says, taking his index finger and running it across my lips, "is, thus far, a deep secret."_

 _I purse my lips. "Yes, I see…"_

" _May I write to you?"_

 _It is such an unexpected statement that I cannot help but raise my eyes to him and in much more than a reserved tone, I say, "I—I don't…"_

" _May I write to you, Sara Crewe?"_

 _I blink, shaking my head briefly at him. "A mere woman cannot stop a man from doing as he wants, Master Henry. The only woman who could is Queen Victoria. I am not a queen, nor called Victoria. If you wished to write to me, there is your answer, good sir."_

 _He cups my cheek a final time before kissing it and darting back to the tennis courts to finish his game._

. . .

"Sara?" Becky's voice calls me back to the present and I quickly snap my gaze back to her. "Come on. We've got to finish this unpacking."

I sigh, shaking out another cloak and hanging it in the wardrobe. I tell her about my schooling and about Charlotte's plans—as well as Jane's condition—and soon we've finished. Becky returns to the kitchens to prepare supper while I cross to my window seat and watch the snow fall.

I know why George wished to bring me to the Diamond Jubilee with him. I knew that, other than a coming out, it was to be to discuss my prospects. As I would be sixteen, I was deemed on the lower spectrum of a marriageable age. I dreaded the thought and the constitution of marriage. I wondered if I was permitted not to marry at all, but the thought of never having children devastated me.

I rose from my window seat and walked towards my other door in my bedroom, which led to my library and sitting room. Crossing the vast space, I threw open the curtains so as I could still gaze at the falling snow, and so that I could watch it while reading a book. Feeling slightly chilled, I pulled the servant's bell and ordered a fire lit.

After it was lit, I stood before it for a moment, extending my fingers slightly forward to warm them just above the embers. I'd since removed my gloves, and the deliciousness of the fire's warmth managed to coax me from my fear at coming out in society, as well as my forthcoming marriage. Perhaps it wouldn't be so very bad after all. I could make a good match…

Two maids entered with a fair amount of wood and proceeded to leave even more firewood behind, before curtsying to me and withdrawing as I thanked them. I advanced towards the cherry wood bookshelf with the newest books—every few months, George would send away for books for me—and selected one called _Ida Brandt_. From whispered conversations at St. Mary's, I'd heard that it was about a young nurse who attempted to fit in with her colleagues.

I'd once considered being a nurse, so long ago, when I was finally let go by Miss Minchin, and permitted to be free. Now that I was in London, teaching was by far more appealing, and I considered becoming a governess to a rich family. What with my vast fortune—which would come to me on my eighteenth birthday if I was married, or my twenty-first birthday if I was not—I didn't really consider anything long-term.

Holding the book, I sat at the window seat again, watching the swirling snow cover everything in a vast whiteness. My eyelids grew heavy—as did the book in my lap —and slowly I fell asleep. I was awoken when the tips of the sky began to grow dark by Becky, who was instructed to change me into more appropriate attire before dinner.

I changed into a smart gray gown trimmed modestly with lace and journeyed downstairs with Ram Dass to the dining hall. I sat straight and erect beside George, for I'd never really liked the foot of the table. A pleasant-looking roast chicken was brought in, along with potatoes, greens, many kinds of bread, and more greens proceeded from the kitchens. George whispered that Cook was busy making my favorite cake—a light, white fluffy thing with raspberry filling.

I clapped my hands, along with George and Ram Dass, at the kitchen's dinner and thanked them all. I was served everything, and ate rather well. I told George my progress with languages—I'd mastered English and French at such a young age, along with Hindi—but he'd sought instruction for me in Latin, Greek, and Italian as well. I'd mastered Latin quickly, and Italian was becoming conversational, but I could not grasp Greek, no matter how hard I tried.

The cake was brought up merely a half an hour after the supper was brought, along with a letter on Mrs. Field's little silver platter, where all of George's letters came. I peeked and watched his reaction as he opened and read it, waiting to see if he would pull Ram Dass into another room, and leave me here at this vast cherry wood table to eat alone. I pretended to be fully absorbed in my cake, and watched as George nodded to Ram Dass, and pulled his head a little toward me. I knew then that the contents of the letter had to be about me, although good or bad I could not tell.

"Sara, as soon as you've finished with that, please come into the sitting room. I would like to have a word with you."

"Yes, George," I replied obediently, making doubly sure that my mouth wasn't full of cake.

George nodded and quickly withdrew in a sweep of deep blue velvet, Ram Dass remaining with me at the table.

"Was it about me?" I asked softly.

He sighed, not wanting to betray his master, yet wishing to inform me of its contents nonetheless. "It was, but that is all I will say, Miss Sara," he said in a neutral manner.

I nodded doubtfully, finishing my cake in record time and taking his offered arm to journey into the sitting room. I sat across from George, legs crossed accordingly, hands in my lap, waiting for him to speak. "George?" I asked when he said nothing, his head still bent over his letter. "I am here."

"To be sure," he said, straightening in his chair. "I've just received a letter from your headmistress, Mrs. Audley."

"Yes?" I asked, perplexed.

"She's informed me that your intelligence far surpasses any of the girls in any form they have to offer. After the holidays are over, you will conclude your time at the school, graduating with the winter class."

I lower my eyes, not expecting this, and dreading my time away from Charlotte. "I see," I reply. "Where shall I go after that?"

"Mrs. Audley is an old friend of Her Majesty. She's managed to get you an audience with Queen Victoria, who can perhaps come up with a worthy alternative."

I raise my eyes. "The queen! But…"

"What, Sara? Are you prepared to refuse this honor?"

"No, of course not, George. I…" I sigh, feeling foolish, but it must be said. "I have nothing appropriate to wear for such a thing…"

He nodded. "Of course. Dressmakers shall come here during the holidays and have you outfitted for the occasion. Charlotte's parents live in town during the main part of the year, do they not?"

I nod. "Yes. Their London house is fifteen minutes away from our school, and a mere twenty from Buckingham Palace."

George nodded a second time. "Good. I shall write to them and inform them of the news. I shall ask them if they wouldn't mind keeping you with them until your audience with the queen."

I bow my head. "As you like, George."

I manage to run from the room as soon as it is appropriate, and dash up the stairs, pausing momentarily upon the landing to catch my breath before darting into my rooms, shutting the door hastily, and remaining there for a moment, taking a bit of time to decide what I should do. In no time at all, I flit over to my desk and find parchment, ink, and a feather quill. Lighting my lamp, I dip the quill into the ink and hastily begin to write.

 _Charlotte—_

 _I am terribly sorry, but the pleasantries will have to wait. I am shaking like a leaf at this unexpected news... Mrs. Audley has written to George and informed him that my schooling with her is now complete. She's spoken with Queen Victoria and asked her to have an audience with me, and I am so fearful that I shall say or do the wrong thing. It seems as if Queen Victoria shall determine my fate. I fear that I will not please her._

 _What shall I do, Charlotte? I cannot disappoint our sovereign! What if she marries me off to an elderly man because I displease her? What if she banishes me back to New York? You know as well as I do that she does not care for children, Charlotte, and perhaps I may still be considered a child to her, due to certain things involving my physicality... Do not disappoint me in the haste of your reply, my friend, for I would do very well by your hasty advice, especially in this matter._

 _Do send my best to your mother and father for me. They've always shown me such kindness and perhaps their kindness would assist me and keep me most mindful of the queen's likes and dislikes in this most troubling time. I cannot bear to even consider me bringing displeasure onto a ruler, for I know that, despite the fact that my fate rests with her, that she could and would wish to keep me away from her if displeasure occurs. Perhaps I should hide myself away for a time, and allow Her Majesty to forget all about me, though I know Mrs. Audley is a most determined woman who would not allow one of her charges not to act anything but ladylike. But perhaps some other young girl could come forth and distract her from planning my future—and, ultimately, my marriage and thus, my fate._

I don't bother signing it—Charlotte will recognize my urgent plea for help, as I'd been there for her when, unexpectedly last summer, a suitor came calling at her family home. Thankfully her father refused her to be married until she was at least sixteen years of age, for although her father so valued tradition, he knew full well how unready Charlotte herself was for such a life changing event. The man went away the following day, for to send a suitor away with an empty stomach would be considered doubly rude.

I managed hand the letter immediately off to Becky, who discreetly brings it to my private messenger and I wash the ink from the tips of my hands, lest someone else come to call upon me before bed. I tidy up my desk, corking the bottle of ink, and leaving my quill by the window to dry. I restack my papers and tuck them away inside the desk—valuing organization second only to honesty above all things—before going across the room and sitting down upon my bed.

I proceed to unlace my black shoes, but stop as I shake my head. "Sara Crewe

meeting the queen," I whisper to myself, and find myself chuckling at this, knowing that, such a short time ago, it seems, I was as thin as a reed and garbed in a plain, ratted black dress. And this all at the hands of the woman entrusted with my very person, and my education. "If Miss Minchin could see me now…"


	2. Chapter Two, Lambert House

Chapter Two,

Lambert House

I've just formally completed my schooling at St. Mary's, whereupon I return to Lambert House with Charlotte. Apparently, Mrs. Audley wrote the same letter to five other girls, so six of us are to have audiences with Her Majesty the Queen. The other girls, who were also young ladies at our school, were to be Bridget Stone—a blonde-haired, blue-eyed, quiet girl who was sixteen; Katherine Andrews—a red-haired beauty who was seventeen; Mary Michaels—a poor girl with black hair who was only fourteen; and, lastly, Jane Astley—a rather loud girl with green eyes who was sixteen.

I didn't know where the other four girls were housed, but Charlotte and I remained at Lambert House with her parents, Lord James and Lady Mary. They were such kindly people that one could easily forget that you yourself were not a Lambert at all, but merely an accepted interloper into the family. It was a comfort, knowing that I had the opportunity not to always return home during the holidays, and now that school was over, I hoped that the Lamberts would continue to want to see me when times arose for it.

Lydia was due to begin St. Mary's that autumn, but remained in Ipswich with Jane and her husband, Robert, after returning from Cambridge with Lydia and their parents. Lydia was there to assist with Jane's upcoming birth. The youngest Lambert, however, was not missed much in the household, for her letters would arrive promptly at teatime twice a week. She would go on and on about the 'distant land' and society there, and though I knew Lord James and Lady Mary worried for her well-being, they knew she was sensible enough not to make a complete fool of herself.

The respite from school, now that our education was seemingly completed, was much appreciated for Charlotte and I. We would talk at length about the literature that we were required to read, whereas the books we preferred. We had even come up with some stories of our own, although putting pen to paper seemed to be more difficult than we had ever imagined. While Charlotte admired damsels in the worst of distressful situations, I much preferred independent women who could manage to get themselves out of danger. Such heroines that I admired seemed to be few and far between, and then frustration set in when I did not have many models to make my own characters with. It all came down to what was popular, and if I could not find it, it must not be. Even though the Lamberts had a lovely library—in both of their houses—it became monotonous to constantly look for something that never wanted to materialize.

After three weeks of waiting—and three weeks of failing to discover and create a worthy heroine—Charlotte whispered to me that she had heard why we were being summoned to the queen. Apparently, the queen had three positions of lady in waiting available, and we were among the chosen. I couldn't understand why six schoolgirls were to be among the participants, and yet I was sure that the best could be made of the situation. It all seemed rather shocking, to say the least, when no formal date was given on the invitation.

The three ladies that weren't chosen would be married off to a gentleman of the queen's choosing, which promptly set a lump in my throat. I quickly became fearful that the queen would not like me, and a direct copy of Miss Minchin. I felt I would be subjected to marrying an old man, old and withered enough to be my great-grandfather, who could not walk, let alone speak properly. Charlotte told me not to worry, however, for even though the queen had been a widow for many years, the queen had a romantic heart and would never subject anyone to an unfortunate match.

I debated writing George, to demand if he knew of this arrangement. I decided against it, however, because I didn't want to risk his chances of a knighthood, so soon after the proclamation had been issued. With George becoming a knight and with my vast inheritance, perhaps the queen would be prepared to be generous when it came to my marriage. Perhaps I would, in time, find love with the man she'd selected for me.

Although, of course, the small grain of hope grew in my mind that I would end up being selected by the queen. Perhaps she would like me enough to keep me in her company, and not have me married off so quickly. To serve any monarch is a great honor, I knew that, and perhaps the honor would be mine. I found myself at prayer every evening before I went to sleep, begging to be chosen by the queen. I felt a bit devilish in doing so, for even though I was within my rights, I did not wish to take the opportunity away from another girl who may need such a position.

In the days that followed, Henry came home for a respite from Cambridge. He and I really didn't say anything to one another, and I'd planned to keep it that way. My childish feelings of dread for him could not be spoken of, and I was positive that Henry had whispered to others of our kiss. Perhaps Henry had embellished it, and had not informed his friends of the fact that I'd not enjoyed it at all. Bile would rise in my throat whenever I considered that day, and I wondered if someone could absolve me of this absolute wretchedness that I felt. I caught him staring at me more than once from across the dinner table, and though it was the only time I really saw him, I prayed that I would not accidentally wander into an abandoned corridor, only to find him walking towards me.

I was in the grand library of Lambert House one afternoon, successfully finding a quiet place to finish _Ida Brandt_. I had nearly forgotten about finding a model for a worthy heroine, and instead, attempted to dissuade my mind against overthinking what had happened with Henry. He couldn't have been thinking overtly about it, I decided to myself, and, therefore, neither should I. Perhaps he truly didn't breathe a word of it, and perhaps it really could be forgotten.

I'd just finished the last line of the last page when the door opened from behind me and Henry entered the library. To say I found myself stiffening automatically was an understatement, and I had to keep a good grip upon my book to prevent myself from losing control and dropping it. I'd not been with him on my own since that day in the gardens, and now, just after I'd turned sixteen, it was most unsuitable thing indeed. I lowered my eyes and attempted to get out of there, memorizing the old cracks in the wooden floor, counting them as I neared the door, but his arm came out and gripped mine.

My breath caught in my throat as I gasped aloud at this impropriety. "Sir, this is most improper. A gentleman should never grab a lady like this."

Henry reached out and tilted my chin up, my curiosity becoming the better of me as I raised my eyes to his. He hesitated for a moment, taking in my eyes, full of fear, and my cheeks, which were becomingly flushed. "You're beautiful."

My cheeks flamed an ugly red under his scrutiny and I wanted desperately to tear myself away from him and run from the room, so as to preserve my reputation—or what was left of it, anyway. I bit my lip to keep it from trembling, and held myself still, not wanting to give him the benefit of seeing me fearful at his impertinent gaze upon me. What he was doing was rendering me undignified, and I wholly resented him for it.

"Sir, I beg you…"

He dropped my arm and sighed. "I apologize. I shouldn't have."

I feel my face blanch white at his willingness to turn me lose so quickly, and yet I stood my ground, poised, waiting to see if he would make a worthy attempt to grab me again. "You're right," I say, stepping away. "You should not have," I continue as I manage to evade him. "Please excuse me."

Henry blinks, seeing my discomfort as he turns to follow me. "Perhaps you will join me for a turnabout the garden later, Miss Crewe?"

I raise my eyes towards the door; he is directly behind me, and while he cannot see my face, he could still hear the contempt in my voice clear as day. "No, thank you sir…" I said, through my teeth, trying and failing not to sound angered.

"Does such a thing revolt you?" Henry asked, moving about and managing to stand before me again. "Can't think why..."

"Do excuse me…" I say again.

Henry makes a grab for me again and holds me there, so as I am unable to come or go as I please. "Speak to me, Sara," he says intimately. "Why can you not bear to look at me?"

"I'll not speak to you!" I shout then, yanking away from him. "Such a thing _does_ revolt me, sir!"

"How can it?" he asks, his voice deathly calm. "I've not seen you in quite some time... Have I offended you? You've not written me back..."

"That is because I had nothing to say," I reply firmly.

I feel the bile rise in my throat again as I managed to evade him again and wretch the door open. I dashed from the library, my book crashing from my hands as I flew through the doors, nearly tripping over it as I attempted to evade Henry at all costs. I ran down the rest of the expansive corridor and soon found Charlotte's suite of rooms, throwing open the doors to the sitting room and gasping outright at what I saw.

There, by her window, was Richard Preston, son of a minor lord, in Charlotte's arms, sunlight creeping through the clouds to shine on them, almost as if the heavens were blessing them. I remembered Richard, who was studying law with Henry at university, and I realized then that he must have returned to Lambert House with him. The pair had not noticed me, standing with my mouth unbecomingly agape in the now open doorway, and Charlotte was willingly returning Richard's kiss.

"Charlotte!" I cried out, and only then did she let out a shriek and pull away from Richard, who, to his credit, looked quite humbled. "Sir Richard, I think it would be best if you went to the library…"

"Yes, Miss Crewe," he said without hesitation, head bowed as he left the room and journeyed back down the corridor to find his friend.

I felt myself shaking, watching as Richard left. "What if your parents got wind of this?" I hissed at her in fright, shutting the doors behind Richard and advancing upon her. "They would be most angry…"

"My mother has gone to Ipswich," Charlotte replied levelly, almost as if it did not matter one way or another. "Jane is to have her baby any day now, and she'll need to be there anyway to collect Lydia."

"Well, I suppose," I said, hesitation lingering at the back of my tone. "But what about your father?"

Charlotte leaned against the back wall of her sitting room. "He has parliament this morning," she said softly, and I remembered that newly-elected Lord James sat in the House of Lords.

I sighed, placing my hands upon one of her chairs for support. "Be that as it may, we need to have a conversation about Henry," I say, crossing the room to her and pulling her into the window seat across from me.

At once, Charlotte seemed interested at the rather unexpected mention of her older brother's name. "Henry? What about my brother? Is he unwell?"

I sigh, feeling my shoulders slack as I attempted to put words to my never-ending cycle of thoughts. "He seems to have been under the impression that he can simply order me about as he pleases. Yes, he is master when your parents are gone, but I am not his to bend willingly. It was most inappropriate and abhorrent..."

"Not his to bend willingly?" Charlotte asked. "What did he ask of you?"

I tear my hands away from hers, my thoughts swimming in discomfort. "More time alone," I said bitterly.

Charlotte raised her eyebrows, immediately catching at my hands again. "And you do not…?"

I nod, cutting her off, the very thought revolting me to no end. "No, I most certainly do not bear strong feelings for Henry, although he would have me believe otherwise…"

"Sara?" Charlotte says quietly, proceeding to search my face. "Is something the matter?" she asks.

I sigh, biting my lip as I turn to look outside. It had not been snowing these past few weeks; rather, frost completely covered the tops of various buildings around us; the very notion that the sun had come out at all that day had been shocking to me. Gripping Charlotte's hands, I leaned forward slightly as I turned back to face her, fearing that all the walls had ears and I did not want to risk anyone hearing these next words.

"Sara?" she asked again.

I lower my eyes, fearing what her face would turn into once the truth was finally spoken. "Last summer, at Lambert Manor, Henry kissed me."

Charlotte pulled away then, gasping aloud. "That day he was on the grounds playing tennis?" she asked.

I nodded. "Yes, that very day."

"I should not have left you alone whilst I got lemonade," Charlotte says, fully prepared to admonish herself.

"I cannot drink it anymore," I reply softly. "Since that day, it leaves such a bitter taste in my mouth..."

"I am sorry for it." She shook her head and sighed. "Well, perhaps other prospects will be given to you once we meet the queen."

I shake my head. "It seems as if he knows of my displeasure… I believe someone may have informed him of it…"

Charlotte bowed her pale brown head and shook her head. "I apologize, Sara. I merely mentioned it in passing when he was leaving for school at the end of the Thanksgiving holidays. It was not a wise thing to do, and I've betrayed your confidence, and for that, I apologize."

I nod. "I understand, Charlotte. He is your brother, and should be answered when he questions you."

"I should not have betrayed your trust, Sara," she says simply.

"No matter," I reply, waving it away. A smile flits at my mouth then, and I find myself asking, "Do you love Sir Richard?"

Charlotte let out a small giggle. "I don't know…"

I immediately sense there's more to the story, and I eagerly sit forward. "Is he the only boy you've ever kissed?"

She giggled again. "Yes. You've been at my side since I was twelve, Sara, and you would know such things."

I nod, considering Richard. "His father... He could not be Lord Harold Preston, could he?"

"Yes," Charlotte replies, flushing at the notion of us discussing Richard. "Lord Preston sits in the House of Lords with Father."

I cock my head to one side, considering her mannerisms at length for a moment and find myself wondering... "Could you love him?" I ask her.

Charlotte takes a moment to answer. "Yes," she replies. "Yes, I think I could love Sir Richard until my last breath. As you despise my brother, my feelings for Sir Richard are quite the opposite."

I gasped, slightly hurt. "I never outright despised Henry, Charlotte."

She smiles. "I see how deep your feelings run, Sara. I can see your displeasure for my brother. I know it is there, despite the fact that you have not permitted yourself to say a word about it. I know you very well."

I giggle for a moment as I consider it. "Yes. I suppose I do despise Henry very much. I find him to be very ill-mannered, I'm afraid..."

Charlotte nods, considering, regarding me for a moment. "And what is it you want in a husband?"

I shake my head, for I'd never really considered such a thing, not even when I was a very little girl. "I want to be loved… I want respect, and common courtesy, and… Oh, so many things, Charlotte."

She nods, a smile flitting about her mouth as she takes in my words, and she nods in agreement. "I know."

"I do not believe Henry is the proper man for me, Charlotte," I confess in the interim, and hope that she does not hate me for it.

"I believe you're correct in that assessment," she replies.

There is a knock at the door then, and Maude, one of the maids, comes in. She hesitates for a moment in the doorway, her cheeks as pale as her white starched apron tied about her middle. "Your brother, Master Henry is coming in, Miss Lambert, Miss Crewe. I've got a letter to you from your mother."

Charlotte's eyes widen as she immediately gets to her feet and darts quickly towards Maude, thanking her profusely and getting the letter just as Henry and Sir Richard come in. "It is from our mother," she tells Henry shortly before opening the letter, her dark eyes reading its contents quickly. "God be praised!" she whispers as she looks up at her brother. "Lord be thanked! You and I have got a nephew!" she cries.

"Jane's had a son?" Henry asks, grinning.

"A fine boy!" Charlotte cries, looking at the letter again and scanning it as quickly as possible—for she always was a fast reader. "He's to be christened Robert John Matthews at the end of the month."

"God be praised," I whisper, crossing myself, and I notice that Henry turns to look on me for a moment, before marching across the room towards me.

I go numb then, and there seems to be a moment before he hesitates, before making up his mind fully. Henry then gently takes my arm and takes me out of there, despite Maude's protests of propriety, and takes me down the stairs to the landing and then across to the drawing room. I've never been in there before and wander to the window to look outside at this part of London down as he shuts the doors behind us.

"I must speak to you, Sara."

I turn back to him, knowing that I must strive to be polite and well-mannered in all things, although it pained me to do so. "Sir, please excuse me for my rude exit from the library," I said, not meaning a word of it. "My manners were put to the test, and I am humiliated to admit that I failed." I sigh, shaking my head. "I wanted to inform you that I…"

"Only my well-meaning sister decided to tell me for you." He sighs, moving to stand opposite me upon the step before reaching outwards and taking my hands. "I stand to inherit this place, although unfortunately the country house will go to William, as the eldest child." He hesitates for a moment, allowing his fingers to caress my knuckles. "That country house has such a distinct meaning to me, as it was where you and I…" He lets out a nervous chuckle then, and I see then that he is treating carefully. "Well, we shall not speak of that, and I want you to know that I do not blame you."

"Thank you," I reply, wanting more than anything to snatch my hands away from his and to dash away once more.

He smiles at my apparent gratitude, not releasing my hands. "I think very highly of you, Sara, and I don't want you to think otherwise. To be honest, I've never met another lady more worthy of being a Lady Lambert after my mother."

I smile at that. "I thank you, but I could not be Lady Lambert, unless I was given in marriage to your brother William." I drop his hands. "However, I am not looking for someone merely to think highly of me, Master Henry."

"Whatever more could you ever want?" he asks, as if I am an imbecile.

I smile up at him, truly thinking that he is the imbecile for not understanding me at all. "Don't you know?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm afraid not."

I nod to myself. "Well, then I am afraid that you and I no longer have anything to discuss. Until or unless you ever know what I am speaking of, then you and I shall keep our relationship a strictly professional one," I say firmly, withdrawing my hands from him. "I am merely the boon companion of your sister. That is all I should ever be to you, Master Henry; no more, no less."

I withdraw from the staircase, wanting very much to yell at Henry and to demand why on earth he would even consider a marriage proposal. Perhaps to give him the answer, he could come to it more quickly. However, if I did give it to him, he would always learn that you could get what you wanted out of life by simply allowing the women around you to give you the answer. However much I despised Henry, it simply did not matter. He probably never understood that a woman could despise a man, from the time he was a very little boy. Perhaps if some fair maiden came along, she would be fully equipped to accept someone—a husband, even—like Henry who merely thought very highly of her.

The very thought of someone else marrying Henry sent relief through me. I sent Charlotte word that I was ill and that I would remain in my rooms for the rest of the day. Supper was sent up to me, but I merely picked at the suckling pig, and much preferred to stand up on my window seat to see the roof of Buckingham Palace beyond. Lights came in from the town and reflected off of its magnificent brilliance, and I wondered when I would be permitted to walk through those doors as a member of the queen's inner circle.

. . .

Lord James returned for summer that night, all-smiles once Charlotte had informed him that Jane had been delivered of a fine son. Lord James was someone anyone could want in a father—or, in my case, a fatherly figure. He had jet-black hair and kind, deep blue eyes, resembling his eldest son, William, in that regard. It was his eyes that not only boated kindness, but generosity, consideration, and intelligence as well, which made him a worthy adversary to the House of Lords.

"Any word from the queen?" Charlotte asked, buttering herself a piece of bread and turning her full attention to her father.

"Busy planning the jubilee," Lord James replied patiently, cutting into his roast and inhaling the steam which greeted his nostrils. "I'm afraid we didn't speak much of her this afternoon, I'm afraid."

Charlotte slumped in her seat a little petulantly before returning to her bread. "I realize the importance of the celebration, Father, but why must Sara and I await this for so long? It's absolutely wretched and hopeless..."

"There's plenty to do, Charlotte," I said softly, and detected Lord James's smile in my direction at my sympathy for his daughter's plight, and yet I was fully prepared not to give in to her likely temper tantrum. "Come now—we even found things to do when we were in school. We had such fun when we weren't working—you know that as well as I do."

Charlotte nods. "I know. I just wish we knew how much time we had to prepare to meet the queen..."

"What's to prepare?" Lord James asked.

"Does she make you prepare something?" Henry asked.

"Even I didn't know that," Richard put in.

"We just need to make sure our eloquence and diction is well-timed and go from there," I said, shooting Charlotte a smile. "As for the rest..." I shrugged. "As for the rest, I am sure the queen will be well-satisfied with us."

Charlotte crumbled her buttered bread in her hands. "One can hope," she said softly, wiping her buttered fingers upon her napkin.


	3. Chapter Three, Buckingham Palace

Chapter Three,

Buckingham Palace

Finally, after another week of waiting, Charlotte and I dressed in our new gowns and journeyed, by carriage, to Buckingham Palace. It was a finely upholstered affair, complete with furred blankets. I fancied myself a true princess in that moment, and Charlotte too, as we peered out of the windows at the snow drifts and the snowflakes swirling around us. The horses were even-tempered animals and went along slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb what they—and the driver—perceived to be precious cargo.

My gown was a lovely pale pink color with silk trappings, finer than anything I'd ever worn in my life. The matching woolen stockings and velvet slippers completed it, and made me feel devoutly royal. The off-the-shoulder gown accentuated my youth but was also able to show off how much I'd grown into a young woman. Beneath the oval bodice was trimmed with expensive lace, and the locket around my neck completed the ensemble; it was almost as if I had my mother resting against my heart.

Charlotte was dressed in a lovely lavender which was too trimmed with expensive lace, and the material had a sheen to it which bounced off the light in her eyes. She wore gloves as I did for modesty, while her simple strand of pearls went well with her pale skin. She bit her lips to bring color to them, for they needed to look as healthy as possible, lest the queen decide not to pick her because of ill health or for any other physical reason.

The carriage ride lasted for a brief time and soon we came to a stop just inside the gates of Buckingham Palace. I'd heard tell that it was merely a house when Queen Victoria came to power, and the queen herself had authorized the change in name almost immediately. The driver hopped down from his post to open the door for us, and Charlotte and I immediately threw off the furred blankets and made grabs for our winter cloaks. Pulling them around us in the small, confined space, we grabbed the side of the door and tried our best not to fall. Nearly shaking, we placed our feet upon the provided step and took the driver's hand before crossing to the grand staircase and towards the main doors.

Once inside, we waited in the small beginning antechamber, hoping beyond hope that we would not have to stand there all day. Finally, a footman took notice of us and we were immediately brought down a long corridor, which was frightfully long, however, its temperature was much more to our liking than outdoors. There was no snow or ice in here, and that in itself was beneficial enough. We were shown towards a pair of grand doors, which were opened immediately, and we were brought inside before they were shut behind us.

Charlotte and I immediately saw that Bridget, Katherine, Mary, and Jane had arrived before we had, and we nodded to each of them in turn. We waited for a moment before a pair of distinguished-looking guards arrived and offered us refreshment. However, we none of us took anything, for fear that eating in a formal sitting room before we were taken to the grand audience chamber would be seen as horribly impolite.

Bridget and Katherine stood by the door, itching to be the first to leave to meet the queen herself. Bridget wore a pale green gown, while Katherine's gown was a powder blue. They quietly squabbled among themselves like a pair of quails, each more haughty than the next, each believing themselves more attractive, each thinking herself was more suited to a position of serving Queen Victoria. Bridget would raise her head in argument, while Katherine would raise hers in a counter attack, and it all continued from there.

Jane, who stood by herself in a corner, wore a butter yellow dress, and did not seem to want to become involved in their squabble, although she seemed familiar to both of them. She successfully managed to evade most of the gazes they threw at her, begging for support. Jane, to her credit, remained silent throughout the ordeal, and instead took note of the lovely furnishings around us, and was likely picturing her new life as a lady in waiting.

Mary, her nose in a book, was garbed in a sensible gray dress. She reminded me of myself when I was under Miss Minchin's tyranny, and it was not something I cared to re-visit. However, Mary seemed to possess an inner strength, which was one thing I had lacked for a significant period after my father's death. She likely had both her mother and father still with her, and they'd likely spent good money outfitting her to meet the queen that day. I considered a rich relative had taken pity on her, thus funding her education and her wardrobe for the day.

Bridget and Katherine wore emeralds and sapphires; each boasted of their fine quality jewelry. Apparently, Bridget's father employed his own jeweler, and that was how she'd gotten her hands on such an expertly-cut emerald. She gloated about the quality of the jewels she received—for her birthday and for Christmas or whenever she had been a particularly well-behaved young woman. Katherine quickly countered to Bridget's gloats, informing Bridget that her family had their own jewel mine, and was permitted to visit it whenever she liked, or whenever they discovered something new within it.

Jane wore yellow topaz, and didn't seem to care about what Bridget or Katherine was saying. In fact, she looked rather bored with their line of conversation, which led me to believe that she had either heard it all before, or talk of jewelry did not interest her. Or, possibly, she was used to their competitiveness and was tired of it, wanting the discussion to be about something else instead of wanting to be better than the other.

Mary wore something called danburite, which I'd heard was a cousin to a diamond, and didn't even bother looking up from her book. I wondered if she was used to people arguing around her, and my heart ached for her. I wanted her to be happy and to live a happy life, and suddenly felt guilty for never seeking her out in conversation. Perhaps I could have been friends with her as well as Charlotte, and we could have bonded through our mutual hardships.

Charlotte wore amethyst, a gift from her mother and father for performing so well on our final exams. She wore it with pride upon her swan-like neck, and she looked truly like a woman in that moment. I wore morganite, which had been put into my locket, something that my father had left me, which had once belonged to my mother.

I turn to Charlotte then, not wishing to watch Bridget and Katherine in an uncomfortable silence any longer. "If Her Majesty doesn't choose you, will you speak of Sir Richard?" I ask her softly. "I mean… Will you ask her if you may accept his hand in marriage?"

Charlotte lowers her eyes, and there is immediate regret in her tone. "Sir Richard has not asked me yet."

I took her hand. "If he did, would you accept?"

She smiles, the flush blooming on her cheeks once again. "In a heartbeat." She takes my hand and pulls me closer to the window, so as we are out of earshot from the other girls. "Pray tell, Sara, what transpired between you and Henry in the drawing room?"

I lower my eyes. I'd managed to keep what happened in the drawing room a secret from Charlotte for nearly a week. "He told me he thought very highly of me," I say softly to her. "And then he attempted to ask me to be his wife."

Charlotte inspects my hands for the thousandth time but comes up empty. "He attempted?" she asks, her eyebrows knitting together. Meeting my eyes, she whispers, "Have you hidden his ring?" she asked, an understanding smile behind her eyes.

"I did not allow him to ask me," I reply shortly, annoyed that Charlotte could not seem to understand that I felt nothing for Henry. "Why would I? I do not, and cannot love him, Charlotte."

She nods. "Yes, I know." Then, whispering, "Did you inform him of your true feelings of contempt for him?"

I shake my head. "No, of course I did not—not fully anyway. Such a thing is most improper. Mrs. Audley informed us as much during school."

"Well, then, what happened?" she asks, a little impatiently.

"I simply informed him that being 'highly fond' of me was not enough," I reply matter of factly. "I cannot devote my life to a man, any man, who does not love me, Charlotte. Although it would not matter, since I had no intention of marrying him—or informing him of the aforementioned contempt in the first place. I know you've found a love in Sir Richard and I do hope you two are permitted to wed. He loves you, doesn't he?" I ask.

Charlotte smiles. "I believe he does. Though if he did not, I would not want to be his wife, either. One should wed who they love."

We turn then as Bridget successfully shoves Katherine out of the way, Katherine's whines about who had the better pendant finally getting to her. Katherine flies into a chair, where Jane has sat, and the pair of them begin speaking sharply to one another, before the three of them beginning to fight like boys. Charlotte and I immediately turn to Mary, who raises her eyebrows at the pair of us before returning to her book. We plaster ourselves against the back wall then, fearful that Bridget, Katherine, and Jane will come upon us and demand that we join in their fight as well. It is then that we hear a squeak of something then and, from behind a curtain, comes Queen Victoria, in her wheelchair, and regards the six of us.

"Your Majesty," Charlotte, Mary, and I say in unison, dropping into curtsies while Bridget, Katherine, and Mary merely stare, openmouthed, at her.

"You," says Queen Victoria, pointing to Mary. "What is your name?"

"Miss Mary Michaels, Your Majesty," Mary replies, curtsying again.

"And you, dear?" she asks, turning to Charlotte.

"I am Miss Charlotte Lambert," Charlotte replies, and quickly curtsies a second time to the queen.

The queen nods, her brown eyes turning next to me. "And you must be Sara Crewe," she says, giving me a small smile. "I could tell because your accent is most unlike the rest of the girls here." She turns then to Bridget, Katherine, and Jane, sighing a little.

"Your Majesty, we beg your forgiveness," Bridget, Katherine, and Jane say, all three prostrating themselves at her wheeled feet.

"Well, I shall arrange husbands for the three of you, then," she says shortly, staring down her nose at them. "I've made my decision. Guards, please escort these three young ladies to their carriage," she says, wheeling back to face us. "As for you three, do follow me."

I take Charlotte's hand automatically and Mary follows us as we walk towards another door, following Her Majesty the queen out of there. I hear Bridget, Jane, and Katherine complaining amongst themselves as they are led out of there, as we are led into a private drawing room. The queen motions for Mary to come forward, and Charlotte and I stay where we are, at a respectable distance.

"Tell me, Miss Michaels, what talents do you possess?"

Jane bows her head. "Your Majesty, I can read, write, speak French and Latin, sing, dance, and cook," she replies.

"Very good," replies the queen. "Miss Lambert, your talents?"

Charlotte steps forward while Mary steps back to join me. "Your Majesty, I can read, write, speak French and Latin, sing, dance, cook, and sew," she says softly, eyes lowered in humility.

"Wonderful," the queen says. "Miss Crewe?"

I step forward and bow my head as well. "Your Majesty, I can read, write, and speak French, Latin, German, Hindi, and conversational Italian, as well as sing, dance, cook, sew, and tell stories."

"Storytelling?" the queen asks, raising her eyebrows.

I nod. "Yes," I say softly, finding that I am smiling at the Queen of England. "I do so love making a story come to life, Your Majesty. I do hope, perhaps one day, I could tell you a story."

The queen smiles a little at my declaration, although I'd feared she would not, then moves her eyes a bit so as she can get a good look at the three of us. Nodding to herself, she says, "My servants will show you to your rooms. After you're all settled in, please take tea with me in the west drawing room. Cecilia will show you where," she says as the double doors open, and a young woman steps through them. "Cecilia, do summon Alice and Betty, please. I would have one maid each escort Miss Michaels, Miss Lambert, and Miss Crewe to their rooms."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Cecilia replied, snapping her fingers, and having two maids all at once dart out from behind her. "They are to be your new ladies in waiting then, I take it, ma'am?" she asked, inquisitive. Cecilia hesitated for a moment on the threshold of the room, and I knew that she had been in Her Majesty's service for a long time.

"Yes, Cecilia," the queen replied easily, turning from her to look at us for a brief moment. "Alice, you will escort Miss Michaels. Betty, you will escort Miss Lambert. And Cecilia, you will escort Miss Crewe."

I took my being escorted by Cecilia to mean one of two things. Either Her Majesty was impressed with me that she wanted her highest lady servant to escort me. Or, it could have been that she didn't like me, and was contemplating whether or not to really trust me. I was shown out of there, beside Charlotte and Mary, and we three were taken upstairs and shown to the ladies' quarters.

The palace was large enough to accommodate ample space for each lady in waiting to have her own room, as Her Majesty didn't require many ladies. Mary was led to the west, where she could see a lake beyond. Charlotte was led to the north, where she would be able to see the comings and goings of people in the palace. And I was led to the south, where the rose garden was.

Cecilia gave me as smile as she led me in to the lovely room. My trunk had already been brought up, the golden, curled letters of _SC_ gleaming in the light. I found myself overwhelmed with how lovely the room was, and I dashed to the window to look outside at my view. Cecilia informed me that she would send someone to my rooms at once to put me into a proper tea gown, and I nodded in thanks as she withdrew.

Pulling a lace curtain aside, I saw what must have been minor nobles walking about outside—couples, they appeared to me. I even saw Prince George and his wife, Mary of Teck, walking together, and I found myself impressed by how in love they truly seemed to be. George bent his head slightly to catch something Mary had said, and she was smiling up at him like a maiden in love.

From all accounts, it was a good match. They had been blessed with two sons, Edward and George, and were expecting their third child in the spring. Princess Mary, Duchess of York, thrived in London society and seemed every inch a queen, and I wondered if, perhaps someday, she would be Queen of England. Such a thought was thought to have been maddening just four years before, because George had an elder brother, Prince Albert.

A knock at my door came forth then, and I turned from my window and called that whoever was there was permitted to come in. A young woman who addressed herself as Anne came forth into my room, and quickly and efficiently put me into a green gown. She put emeralds around my neck and in my ears, finishing off with two on each of my fingers—my index finger of my left hand and my ring finger of my right. Cecilia returned to escort me to the room where tea would be given, and I followed gratefully.

The queen sat in her traditional black attire, adorned with beautiful pearls, as I entered the room with Cecilia. Mary and Charlotte were already sitting with the queen, and I curtsied before the queen gave a wave of her hand for me to the three join them, albeit quickly. She announced that the Princess of Wales—Alexandra, Prince Albert's wife—would be joining us shortly, along with Mary of Teck, the Duchess of York. she spoke with fondness at the notion that her daughter and granddaughter-in-law would be joining us, and I wondered how well she got along with both of them.

Her eldest daughter, Victoria, the Princess Royal and the Dowager German Empress, was visiting and would be along as well. I'd heard that she had been much better at learning than her younger brother, the Prince of Wales, who had successfully replaced her in the line of succession. I wondered how that affected the queen's notion that perhaps she had made a mistake in letting the country dictate an heir to her. As a widow, the Dowager German Empress was permitted to go where she liked and would frequently return to England to visit with her mother and Princess Alexandra.

The Dowager German Empress Victoria arrived first, her deep brown hair and engaging eyes catching Mary's attention. Mary smiled at the dowager empress, and the young Victoria exclaimed to her mother that Mary was "lovely, like a little doll", and sat down beside her. The empress praised Mary on how well-read she was, and was eager to learn which books were her favorites.

Princess Alexandra came in next, her deep black hair long and lovely down her back, a proper crown atop her head. She raised her eyebrows at Charlotte's presence there and went to sit beside her. She and Charlotte made small talk until their conversation drifted to languages. Princess Alexandra was from an obscure family originally from Denmark, and Charlotte, who had roots there, could speak Danish conversationally.

"Hvordan har du det i eftermiddag, Prinsesse Alexandra?" asked Charlotte, much to the delight of the Princess of Wales.

"Jeg er meget godt, tak, Miss Lambert. Hvordan finder du min mor-i-lovs domstol hidtil?" the princess asked.

"Det er en helt ny verden for mig, Deres Højhed. Jeg er mest ivrige efter at være en del af det, og at blive oplyst af Hendes Majestæts vejledning," Charlotte replied with ease.

Mary, Duchess of York, came in last, a modest crown resting atop her brown curls as she curtsied to the queen. She turned and, seeing me, gave me a smile and sat down beside me. "And you must be Sara Crewe."

I nodded, rising and curtsying to her, and the duchess looked pleased and amused at my apparent propriety, although it was exactly what Mrs. Audley had taught us to do in the first place. "Yes, Your Grace. It is an honor to make your better acquaintance."

"As it is to make yours, Miss Crewe," replied the duchess. She turned momentarily to the queen, who nodded, and then turned back to me. "Miss Crewe, Empress Victoria and Princess Alexandra are informing your friends now that you three are not to serve Her Majesty."

I blinked, confused. "But, I believed we were to serve Her Majesty; our respective guardians were informed of this," I say, fighting to keep my voice under control, for I was fearful again that I should be given in marriage to an old man. "I heard tell that six ladies were summoned, and the three who were not selected would make honorable matches, and the other three would serve—"

"A member of the royal family," Duchess Mary said patiently, a polite smile on her lips, so as to assure me that she is not offended at my shock. "I am afraid you will not be serving my grandmother-in-law, Miss Crewe." She hesitates for a moment, almost as if she wants to draw out completely what the true desires of the queen are. "I humbly ask if you would like to serve me."

I gasp, the very idea of serving someone so close to the throne nearly too intoxicating to refuse. "You, Your Grace?"

She nodded. "My grandmother-in-law spoke to the three of us—Empress Victoria, Princess Alexandra, and I— after you three were shown to your rooms."

"Did she?" I ask, interrupting in my excitement.

The duchess smiles. "She did. She asked us, based on your qualities, which one of us would like which maiden to enter their service."

"Qualities?" I ask, wondering if she is comparing me to a loaf of bread which is far too lumpy for proper consumption.

"Positive attributes, if you will."

I nod. "I see."

"I've never experienced that before, I must confess, Miss Crewe—being told of a maiden's positive attributes and having them dictated to me as if they were etiquette lessons... I'm quite sure you learned those at your school?"

I nod. "Yes, three times a week for beginners, brought down to twice a week at each end for the more advanced students, Your Grace."

"Quite a bothersome subject, if you ask me," the duchess joked. "However, as soon as I heard your qualities, Miss Crewe, I confess I became so excited that I knew I wanted desperately to have you in my household."

"Are duchesses permitted excitement, ma'am?" I ask before I can stop myself, my cheeks immediately flaming in embarrassment.

The duchess twitters quietly to herself. "I should say so, Miss Crewe."

"I am glad to hear it, ma'am."

The duchess straightens in her seat ever so slightly. "Miss Crewe, as soon as I walked in, despite walking in last, I knew which lady would enter my service. If you would like to, that is."

I hesitate, wondering what an appropriate question would be. "You don't live at Buckingham Palace, Your Grace?" I ask.

She shakes her head, all too pleased to inform me of her home. "No. The Duke of York and I reside at York Cottage."

"York Cottage." I think to myself, _What an appropriate place for the Duke and Duchess of York to reside at_. "It's in Norfolk, is it not?"

She brightens at that, all too pleased to tell me more. "Yes, indeed. It is a grand house on the old Elizabethan estate of Sandringham House."

"It sounds lovely, ma'am."

The duchess smiles at my compliment. "You will join me there, Miss Crewe, and, in time, assist me with my children."

I look her over for a moment. "I think it will be a daughter," I say softly.

My new mistress blushes like a young girl in springtime. "I do hope so, Miss Crewe, I do." She leans forward slightly then, and I move to do the same, catching a rare smile from the queen as the duchess and I put our heads together. "My dear husband has two sons already…and a girl would be…"

"A princess," I reply, smiling at the duchess, at once understanding her meaning and her excitement at the prospect of having a daughter. "All girls are princesses, Duchess Mary, all girls."

"She will be no exception," the duchess said devoutly. "Did your mother and father raise you with that notion?"

I lower my eyes. "Unfortunately not, ma'am. I lost my mother when I was a little girl and my father perished in the war. It is not so bad," I say quickly, noticing the sadness upon her face. "I was taken in by a wonderful man who became quite like a father to me. I was given everything I ever wanted and needed, so it is not as if I was lacking in anything..."

"Affection?" the duchess asked. "You were surely given affection?"

I give a small smile and shake my head. "Not when it became inappropriate, ma'am, for such things cannot be tolerated."

The duchess sighed. "I understand, Miss Crewe." She reached out and took my hand in a gesture of comfort. "Rest assured you shall be well-looked-after in my household."

I squeeze her hand briefly. "Thank you, ma'am. Your kindness and sympathy are great things. I formally accept the position."


End file.
